Saturday, August 04, 2007

It has been another rather tropical week here in Boston. One of my garden neighbors has described the air quality as moist and chewy. It seems in my old age that this kind of weather has the same effect on my brain functions that cold weather has on molasses. Ideas tend to crawl rather than flow.

To attempt to get things a bit more current I will see if I can kick start my brain and remember anything of note that has been going on over the past couple of weeks.

I made a reference to daddyliciousness in my last post. I was taken out to dinner at a fairly trendy tapas joint the other week by my friend Wahz and we were joined by C. It was a very nice time and the food was delicious. To add to the mix, we were also treated to some people watching. The restaurant is one of those destinations in the South End where the hip can go an be seen to be seen. Boston is not a big fashion town, so you have to know which little enclaves to go to, in order to see the painfully hip. One of the servers managed to make it into that category. We called her the scary waitress. The poor dear looked like she had been missing meals and manifested the arrogant countenance of someone who found it very trying to have to wait on people who were so old and out of it and should really have gone off to Denny's for the senior special.

I frankly didn't get it. Aside from looking like she had dressed out of the free box at the corner, there was her hair. It looked rather like she had not washed or combed it for at least a week. Is bed head the hot new hair style for young female hipsters?

However I have to admit that she may have had a point. Not that the 3 geezer gourmets were in any way unable to appreciate our food, but C. was the only member of the party that looked as though he had dressed for the occasion. Wahz and I had dressed for the weather and not the occasion, and if W. was, to be honest, looking like a slob, I wasn't looking much less dowdy. I suspect the cream colored aloha shirt and white shorts made me look like someones grandfather out for an evening at "The Cheesecake Factory". Still I was decently covered and able to cope with the tropical conditions here in Boston.

The meal as I said was delicious, and I had a very nice time, in spite of the fact that I should have been shipped off to some colony for the hopelessly geriatric and unhip and after we had done a certain amount of violence to Wahz exchequer we headed back towards our own part of town.

We had only got as far as the corner of Washington and Mass. Ave. when I found myself being cruised by some 30 year old. WTF! As I said, I was not exactly looking my best and I should point out that I will be walking with Monkey and he will suddenly announce,"You were just SO cruised!" I will usually give him a blank look and have to ask who supposedly was checking out my past the sell date ass. In order for me to notice that anyone is giving me the eye, they practically have to jump up and down in front of me, wave their arms and shout. So, when I say this young fellow was giving me the glad eye, he wasn't being at all subtle about it. It was a nice little ego boost, if a bit odd and we continued on our way.

We hadn't got much further than the corner of Mass. and Columbus when a big, shiny, new pickup with a couple of young 'mo's in it pulled up to the stop light. The admittedly hot, but much too young passenger turned to look at us, made eye contact and proceeded to give me the slow burn, his head turning to follow me as though it was on ball bearings. Now, I am more inclined to think something like this was horrified fascination on the part of youth. But I was in a good mood so I gave him a nod. He broke into a big SEG, nodded back and continued to check me out. By this point his companion had become aware something was going on and gave his passenger a dirty look.

The light changed we crossed the street and the truck drove on.

It was a nice little ego boost, but it set me to thinking about how much 30 years change things. When I was young, I would have wound up with either an evening of adventure or at least a phone number. That evening I was more than content with the rosy glow of having some cute guy notice that I still have a pulse. I guess I must be more secure or something, since I didn't feel any need to prove to myself that things could go any further, aside from the unacceptable age difference I did not feel compelled to flake out on my friends at the first hint of sex. At 22, this would have been an automatic reaction. Now I find that I enjoy the certainty of my friends company.

I have been experiencing "daddy" incidents for the past few years. While I would rather pursue guys my own age, they all seem to be trying to recapture their lost youth and are chasing after 20 year olds and it is rare that I meet anyone age appropriate who acts interested. I am finding myself increasingly hooking up with guys in their late 30's which is stretching it a bit in my opinion. I shouldn't complain. They have proven to be, in large part, very nice guys. They have finally reached an age where they are no longer so young that they have to dedicate their every minute to doing something that everyone else is doing and are capable of holding a conversation and in general are adults.

There may also be a certain amount of justice in this since I, in my youth used to almost exclusively date men that were around 10 years older than myself. So, now it seems to be my turn to be the older guy. I suppose I should just relax and enjoy it, I don't have that many good dating years left.

Oh, and cute truck guy, if you're reading this. Cute, really cute but get back to me when you've got a few more years on you, okay?